


Anything

by Schwoozie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Comedy of Errors, F/M, Horny Rick Grimes, Late at Night, Misunderstandings, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Alternating, Post-Season/Series 03, Prison (Walking Dead), Sexual Frustration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-04-27 00:03:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5025835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beth is bringing Judith back to bed when she sees the light on in Rick's cell. She can't resist the urge to say goodnight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely sparks_of_greene's fault. Entirely.
> 
> I have another chapter or two in mind for this, but I'm listing it as a one-shot for now because I don't want to make any promises.

Beth sighs, leaning back on the counter and stretching her aching neck. Judith has been going through colicky fits, and tonight is no exception; no sooner had Beth blown out her candle and shut her eyes than the baby began to whimper, and she had to leap up and calm her before she broke into full-blown wails. The kitchens are far enough away from the sleeping cells that nothing but screaming would wake anyone, and Beth's gotten used to frequenting this block at night; that doesn't make it any less spooky, though, and she's always glad to leave.

It seems like it's reached that time again; Judith is resting contentedly against her chest, head pillowed on Beth's shoulder as she sucks her thumb. Beth kisses her head, closing her eyes and breathing in all that baby smell. Carol had mentioned the other day that Beth's laundry smells like her own did, when Sophia was young; a mix of talcum powder and wet wipes and that particular scent that makes Beth smile whenever it hits her, reminds her of the precious life she's holding in her arms. She likes it a little, she thinks, that she's beginning to smell like Judith; makes her role in the prison feel more legitimate, small as it is.

Finally satisfied that Judith has relaxed enough to go back to her crib, Beth turns off the lights and makes her way back to their cell block. She used to be horrible at navigating in the dark; trips from her bed to the bathroom at night would leave her with bruised shins aplenty. But then came the horrors of the dead; then came the winter, when she had to learn her body all over again. She never got as good at killing walkers as Maggie—not that her sister afforded her much opportunity to practice—but, well, she's still here; and walking a few hundred feet across a cleared prison floor is nothing compared to sneaking through the underbrush, a group of raiders on their tail.

There's a little more light when she reaches the cell block, candle-light shining through some of the privacy screens. Glenn and Maggie's cell is dark, but Carol's still shines bright—Beth knows she likes to read before bed—and several cells down from her's, Rick's got his light on, too.

Beth pauses when she passes his cell, hovering a little, indecisive as to whether she should enter and let him say goodnight to his child. She wouldn't trade taking care of Judith for anything, but it still feels strange to have the baby sleeping in Beth's cell, and not her father's. Like Beth is usurping something, crossing some line that Rick is too much of a gentleman to push her back across. She knows the notion of family is changing—it changed the moment the group showed up on their farm and snuck little by little into their lives—but she still wonders if part of Rick resents her for taking the place that Lori should inhabit. If he looks at Beth and wishes he had the power to sacrifice her to whatever God is left, if only to get his wife back.

In the end, though, this _is_ Beth's job—and it isn't like Rick doesn't need the help. He does. He proved it with his illness, and he proves it everyday when he labors in the garden from dawn till dusk, pointedly averting his eyes from the fence crew like one look will draw him back in. Back to the death, the carnage. The violence that laid some seed in his son, that grew from something in himself. He lost himself when he lost Lori; is still trying to find the remains in the wreckage. Beth knows that if anything is going to bring him back, it's going to be Judith.

She knocks on the wall by his cell.

For several long moments there is no response. Beth sighs softly, assuming he must have fallen asleep without blowing his candle out. She's just turning to continue her walk to her cell when she hears his voice call out, “Yeah?”

Beth adjusts Judith on her hip and pulls the curtain aside, stepping in quickly and letting it fall shut behind her so the light doesn't bother anyone else. She blinks a few times as she adjusts to the candlelight, her eyes finding Rick where he sits on the edge of his bunk. She's surprised to find him fully dressed—not that he ever really _un_ dresses that she knows of, none of them do—but his boots and over-shirt are still on, if unbuttoned halfway to reveal the stained white of his undershirt. He's sitting hunched over with his legs spread wide, hands clasped between them. He squints up at Beth like he's adjusting to the light too.

“Hey,” Beth says, just loud enough to be heard—which isn't loud at all, really, considering the small space.

“Hey,” Rick says, just as quietly. “Everything ok?”

She's quick to nod, shooting him a small smile. “I was just going back to bed and saw your light on; thought you might wanna say goodnight to Judy.”

Rick nods, looking down at his hands. After a moment he scoots over, closing his legs a little so Beth has room to sit.

Beth hesitates. She realizes, suddenly, that she's never been alone with Rick like this. She's been alone with him, sure—helping him get dinner together on the road, stopping by the garden to remind him to drink some water, take a break now and then. She doesn't know how he does it, sometimes, work like he does; she barely does anything physical beside carry Judith around and she goes to bed exhausted. She can only imagine what the hot sun, the manual labor must do to his body.

Thinking about his body is not helpful in this situation, so Beth pushes those thoughts to the back of her mind and takes the offered space, perching on the bunk beside him, hands hovering around Judith to hand her over. Rick doesn't seem to want to hold her, though; he's still looking at his clasped hands, thick lines crossing his creased forehead. She wonders how long he's been sitting here like this. He still smells like the day, like sweat and dirt and fresh air, so she knows he hasn't showered; it makes her feel a little better about how she must smell, after the few days she's gone without bathing. She just never seems to have the time or energy; and it isn't like everyone hasn't gotten used to each other's body odor. She still feels strange, though, sitting with a man and not smelling like a girl is supposed to smell.

Judith whimpers in her sleep, and Beth turns to shush her; when she looks back at Rick, he still hasn't moved, but his eyes have swiveled to land his gaze on her. His eyes flicker once, from her face to Judith's, before looking back at the floor.

“Are you ok, Rick?” Beth asks.

He doesn't answer for several moments, then sighs heavily, rubbing his face. When he pulls his hands away his cheeks are ruddy with the friction.

“Just been thinking,” he says. He snorts to himself. “Too much. As usual.”

“What about?” Beth asks.

She makes sure to keep her expression steady as he looks her over; doesn't give into the urge to tuck her chin, turn her face away, use Judith as a distraction. She isn't used to it, having Rick Grimes's full attention on her. She's never realized quite how intense his gaze is, even under the haze of exhaustion.

“Just things,” he says.

“Like...?”

He sighs, scratches his scalp. She can tell he doesn't want to talk; knows he'd usually rather be silent, especially now that he's so explicitly turned the reigns of the group over to others. She wonders if it's a question of judgement on his part; that he's said so many things, done so many things, that led to tragedy for all of them. As he thinks of it, at least. Beth doesn't think Rick is to blame for anything that's happened to them; she doesn't know if she believes in assigning individual blame at all.

Maggie always calls her naïve for looking at the world like that. Beth knows she's naïve. She knows that's how others see her, and she knows they look down on her for it, sometimes—but is it really naïve to believe in something better? Is it naïve to hold a sleeping child in her arms and think that maybe some things aren't about to fall apart?

Regardless. Rick is still sitting beside her, shoulders slumped like the world weighs on them just as much as it did when he led them through the wild.

 _He needs to talk to someone,_ she thinks. _He has Daryl and Daddy and Glenn and Carol, but he can't tell them he's having a hard time. It'd seem selfish. I know that's how I would feel._

And Beth wants, very suddenly, for Rick Grimes to be selfish with her.

She scoots a little closer across the bed. He doesn't react except to glance up at the jostling of the mattress, which she takes as a good sign. She settles with her shoulder just brushing his. His scent is stronger from here, heady, and her sleep deprived brain swirls a little.

“Rick,” she says. She nudges him gently, waiting until he finally looks at her. There's something guarded in his eyes, a kind of stillness she isn't used to seeing from him, but she attributes it to the exhaustion of the day; not to mention the girl harassing him in his own room. She knows that's what he mustt be thinking, and a year ago that might have sent her running; but no matter what Maggie thinks, she's grown just as much as the rest of them. Walkers scare her, yes; the rapists and murderers and whoever else exists beyond the fences scare her. But not this. This she can handle.

“Tell me,” she says.

He looks at her for a few more unfathomable moments. She wonders what he's trying to decide. Whether it's worth the energy to make his confession? Whether she's grown up enough to take it?

She can take whatever he throws at her. She knows she can.

“Walkers are massing again,” he finally says, speaking as if the words are being dragged out of him. ”Daryl told me the council's working on figuring out a way to reinforce the fences, but there's so much of it; ain't no way we'd find the supplies.”

Beth tingles with pleasure that he's decided to open up to her, at least a little; but she squashes it down tight, hoping he doesn't see it in her eyes.

“There aren't any landfills nearby? They could have scrap metal.”

Rick shrugs. “Wouldn't know. Isn't my business.”

“'Course it is.” Beth says. Rick looks ready to refute her, but she cuts him off. “You don't have to lead us to have a stake in this place. It's your home too.”

Rick's lip twitches. “For how long, though?”

“Long as we got.”

Rick is silent again, hands twisting against each other. She sees he's picked up Daryl's habit of pulling at his cuticles. She wants to reach out and still his fingers but she isn't sure how he'd react.

As it is, he loses interest in her quickly, sighing again and looking at the floor. “You ought to get to bed,” he says. “Your dad'll kill me, he knows I kept you up.”

Beth laughs softly. “I was up with Judith anyway. You didn't do anything.”

Rick twitches, looking towards the back wall of the cell as if he doesn't even want her in his periphery vision anymore. Beth can't deny that that stings a bit; but she'll take the dismissal for what it is.

When she moves to get up, though, his voice calls her back.

“Can't do anything right,” he says, quiet enough that she has to sit even closer in order to hear it. “Carl hates me. Judith... you shouldn't be doing all this on your own. It isn't fair.”

“I don't mind,” Beth says. “Honest. We all got jobs to do, and this one's mine.”

“Being a dad used to be my job,” Rick says. He turns back towards her enough that she can see his pupils again, ringed by irises turned the color of cobalt by the low light. “I was a cop, yeah, but Carl should always have come first. I'm not even a cop anymore, and I can't–“

“You just need time,” Beth says. She's practically pressed up against him now, arm warmed by the lean strength of his beneath his shirt. “You got us here. Times's something you have now. We all do.”

He's finally looking at her again, and at least this time she feels better equip to deal with it; even so, she feels it like a pressure on her face as heavy as the one of Judith against her chest.

“You're too damn good, Beth,” he says. “Too damn good.”

Beth flushes, but doesn't look away from him. She shrugs. “Just doing my job.” She studies Rick as he studies her, ignoring for a moment Judith's shifting against her shoulder. “You're a good man, Rick Grimes,” she says, “and I'm here for you if you need anything.” She lays her hand over his entwined knuckles, giving a small squeeze. “Anything at all.”

Something in his face seems to change at her words; his clenched jaw goes slack and his eyes widen, flickering over her face in a way that makes her cheeks heat, though she doesn't know why. He's looking at her like she's just said something life-changing. She doesn't think she has. It's the truth. She cares about him. He deserves to be cared for.

But he's still looking at her with that blasted open expression and she realizes she's been stroking his wrist with her thumb. She withdraws it quickly, not missing the way he flexes his knuckles as soon as she's gone.

“Well,” Beth says, pulling Rick's eyes up from where they'd trailed down to her hand settling itself against Judith's back. “I ought'a get going. It's baby girl's bedtime, huh?”

“Yeah,” Rick says, rough like she imagines he sounds like when he's just woken up. Not that she ever imagines that. “Yeah, you... get on to bed.”

Beth smirks, trying to lighten the mood. “Don't want my daddy shooting you, do we?”

Her words don't have their intended effect; instead his eyes open still farther, and his eyes drift once more down her body—in a way, she realizes, she doesn't entirely dislike.

It frightens her, yes; makes her feel like they might be having two different conversations. But she doesn't dislike it.

“Well,” Beth says, wrenching her eyes away from Rick's face in order to stand, focusing on quieting Judith's whimpering instead of the man in front of her. “Just wanted to say goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Beth.”

Beth shoots him one final smile before leaving the cell.

She's almost blown off her feet by the sheer _expanse_ she feels stepping out of that confined space, and she has to take a few deep breaths in through her nose before walking back to her cell.

She puts Judith in her crib first, smiling despite herself when the baby reaches for her in her sleep. She settles quickly, and Beth places a kiss on her cheek before shucking her shoes and crawling into bed.

She pulls the covers up until she's completely covered but for the crown of her head; breathes in the familiar scent of her blanket as she listens to the quiet moan of the wind outside, the slowing beat of her own fluttering heart, the soft little baby snores coming from the corner.

And if at some point in the night she dreams of a familiar pair of booted footsteps walking up to her cell, moonlight streaming in as he pushes aside the curtain to look in on how the blanket's fallen askew, pulled away from one hip to reveal the sharp bone and soft white skin; if she dreams of him lingering, eyes sweeping her form, fingers twitching as if to touch—well.

There's nothing there to think about.

It's only a dream.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a little over a week and Rick hasn't taken Beth up on what he knows (he _knows_ ) she offered him in his cell. Thing is, he's running out of reasons why he shouldn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be working on my actual WIPs but I can't get this dang thing out of my head. So have a horn-dog Rick update. I know you love him.

Rick wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist, acutely aware of the soil he smears on his face in the process. He frowns at the feeling of it, tacky on his skin. He feels like a bit of a wimp, getting prissy over some dirt when he knows he has a place to wash it off at the end of the day, but it doesn't lessen the way his hands twitch with his desire to hike up the hill to the water pail.

He squints across the prison yard instead. The day is winding down and everyone with kitchen duty is inside working on dinner by now. Or so he guesses. That seems to be the system the council's worked out. Not that anyone told him. Or that they should. But it isn't hard to guess that there's some connection between the people who put meals together retiring an hour before twilight.

A few people remain in the yard. Sasha and Tyreese are working the fence. Tyreese says something and Sasha laughs as she stabs a walker through the eye, pausing before her next kill to punch her brother on the arm.

Carl and his friend Patrick are playing an intense game of jacks by the picnic tables. They'd found a set in the library and Rick might have nerded out a little too hard the first time he saw Carl holding the box, assailed by memories from his own childhood. Regardless, the boys have turned it into a tournament of sorts; some of the younger kids are gathered close, shouting encouragement to one or the other. The wave of sound rises and Patrick grins while Carl sits back on his heels, scowling.

Rick's lips twitch before settling into a frown. Lori'd be happy to see this: Carl being a kid, facing challenges that aren't life and death. She'd be happy to see all of it. Would be happier if Shane were still around, maybe, but still. She'd be happy.

A laugh rises from behind Rick and his head jerks around, thoughts of Lori leaving his mind entirely. Beth's standing near the door to the ramshackle garden shed, bending with Hershel over something he has cupped in his palm. Seeds, maybe. Rick can't imagine what else.

She has Judith in her arms as usual, balancing her easily on her hip. When she brings a hand away from the baby to touch whatever Hershel's showing her she doesn't shift her stance at all; the muscles in her bare arm tighten instead, twisting the plush flesh into cords.

Judith's grabbed hold of Beth's tank top and is tugging it down off her shoulder so she can get the fabric in her mouth. Beth doesn't even seem to notice. Keeps chatting with her father, the stretch of muscle rising into her neck, one of the longest fucking necks Rick can ever remember seeing on someone so tiny. It looks like twice its usual length now, reaching down over her shoulder, her bare shoulder, pinked a little by the sun and unblemished by the marks of a bra strap.

The way Judith's pulling at Beth's top, Rick wouldn't need to see her shoulder to know what she isn't wearing.

Rick closes his eyes and tilts his face up to the sky, wishing it would start to rain. Just fucking pour. Drench his body, pound in his veins, drown out what she said to him over a week ago, whispered now like she's pressed right against his ear, tongue flicking against his sensitive flesh with each word.

_I'm here for you if you need anything. Anything at all._

When he brings his face down she's looking at him. Of course she's looking at him. Has her head tilted a little, a hesitant smile on her face. A little questioning, like she wants to ask if he's ok. If he needs anything.

 _Anything_.

Rick forces a grimace and turns back to the ground. He's ready to call it a day but he's not about to leave his hoe and gloves in the dirt. He'll wait until the way to the shed is clear, then go inside and take a quick shower before dinner. Quick enough that the water won't have time to warm up, that his mind and hands won't have time to wander. Somehow, he's managed that for a little over a week. Had for almost a year prior too, but that time doesn't feel quite as long, the effort as impressive.

Once, the admission that it takes superhuman concentration to keep his hand off his prick would have made Shane howl with laughter. Rick might have chuckled too.

Now all he feels is vaguely ill.

Her scuffed boots entering his line of vision causes such a disruption to his heartbeat that he very nearly does throw up. He covers it with a cough, squinting at her as sweat drips into his eyes.

His eyes catch again on her bare shoulder, the shirt pulled taut against her chest. She must have spent more time outside than usual today; this close, he can see that the pink he'd spied from afar has the raw cast of a new burn.

He imagines what it would feel like to touch her there, how hot she'd be. Her hand was cool when she lay it over his, but that was at night, late, nothing to do but lull Judith to sleep. He'd had the fleeting thought to warm her hands, before she said what she said; take hold of them and rub them between his palms, comfort her like she was doing so well with him.

And then she said what she said. And if he had taken her hand between his then, it wouldn't have stayed there for long.

Other parts of him are warmer. Other parts of her too. The ways they could warm each other up, how his hands could make her glow with burns all over...

When she holds out the rag all he can see is himself wetting it till it's damp; twisting it into a rat-tail and–

“It's hot today.”

Rick blinks at her and just manages to keep from swearing loudly when a drop of sweat rolls directly into his eye.

It's his skin heating up now as she laughs and presses the towel towards his groping hand. He grabs it from her and presses it to his stinging eye, swiping it up to his hairline.

When he can see again she's still in front of him, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she tries not to grin.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh at me,” Rick says, twisting his mouth when he looks down at the rag and sees how dirty he's made it.

“I am,” Beth says, voice delighted. She shifts Judith on her hip and reaches forward to pluck the rag from his grasp, folding it deftly so she only touches the unsoiled parts.

“Are you coming in soon?” she asks. Rick looks away from her small hand and finds her expression has shifted to concern.

“Yeah. In a minute,” he says. He looks back towards the shed. Hershel isn't there anymore; Rick can see him hobbling up the hill towards the prison, and he both wishes the old man would stay away and hurry back. That Hershel trusts him alone with his youngest daughter...

They all trust him, is the thing. No one's looking their way, not that he can tell. No one finds anything strange in him and Beth talking together. There's Judith between them, yes, that's always a reason. She'd make any interaction seem innocent. She should. But Rick finds it easy, too easy, to imagine the baby away. Imagine her into Lori's arms, the flicker of white fabric Rick still catches from the corner of his eye sometimes, like she's waiting for him to slip up. Or pushing him towards it. Watching with eyes he could never quite read as judgmental or not as he shifts his weight towards Beth, gauges how she reacts. She doesn't, except to brush some hair behind her ear, and Rick wonders if she's trying to say he should have done that first.

“How are you doing?” she asks. “We haven't had a chance to talk... since...”

Rick only just stops himself from rocking back on his heels. _Since_. Since she came into his cell late at night, interrupting whatever spin of thoughts had been keeping him awake; he can't even remember. Hardly remembers their conversation beyond the sense he had during it that he had no right putting his worries on her shoulders. Talking about being a leader and a father and bringing back into her world everything the fences are supposed to keep out.

Nothing he said seemed to surprise her, though. She'd looked at him with level eyes, shadowed in the dark cell but sparking to life whenever the flicker of the candle hit. Like there were two women in his cell with him that night. And he didn't realize that “woman” had replaced ”girl” in his head until she put her hand over his and blew his world apart.

And she left. He didn't say anything to keep her there and she left. And every time he sees her looking at him out of the corner of his eye he can practically hear the words running through her mind. The same ones he's fallen asleep to every night since:

 _She offered. She offered, Grimes, so why won't you fucking collect_?

“I'm fine,” he says, voice lower than he wants it, rougher than he wants it, but he can't help either. “I, uh. I've been thinking about what you said. A lot.”

She _smiles_. Smiles so sweetly it's like to break his heart.

“I'm glad,” she says, all rushed and breathy with relief. “And I meant it, Rick. I really did. You don't have to go through all this alone. I know I'm not your first choice, but... but I wanna do it. I wanna do what I can.“

Rick's head feels light as a fucking balloon but he manages to keep his eyes steady on her. Blotches of pink build in her cheeks and he wants to touch them, see if they're as hot as he imagines her sunburn to be, but even if no one's looking now, they could at any moment.

But the heat swirls in Rick's head and in his blood and he hasn't touched a woman in over a year now, hasn't had a vent for his frustration beyond stabbing the earth with a hoe as walker growls built up along the fences, and the part of him that didn't hesitate in burying a machete in a man's skull pushes flames against the underside of his skin.

He doesn’t just shift his weight this time; he takes a step forward and touches her, cups the bare skin of her shoulder and just keeps from hissing through his teeth. He was right. Her burned skin is almost feverish in the heat it presses against his palm. She's so small; his thumb slides easily beneath the strap of her tank top, traces her collarbone.

“Who said you're not my first choice?”

Beth blinks at him, eyes wide and owlish, skin just about vibrating beneath his touch. Judith fusses quietly and Beth loosens her grip on the baby, resettles her on her hip without looking away from Rick.

“I mean... I don't know much. Would I be anyone's?”

“You sell yourself short, honey.” Rick strokes his thumb across her collarbone twice more before squeezing her shoulder and bringing his hand back to his side, feeling it spasm. He thinks his stomach is about to twist in on itself, and when the words come they leave his throat like a croak. “Tonight, maybe?”

A small smile slides onto Beth's face, her lips as red as her cheeks. “Of course. Like I said. Whenever.”

 _Hershel's baby_ , a treacherous corner of Rick's mind whispers. _A year ago her mama tried to tear her throat out and what you want to do ain't much different. She wore cotton and scrubbed behind her ears and called you Mr. Grimes._

_She says she doesn't know much. You're the one's gonna teach her?_

Rick doesn't want to wait till tonight. Now that he's made up his mind, Rick wants to start. Take her hand and press it against the erection trapped in his jeans. Show her that if she weren't holding his daughter, _whenever_ could very easily be _right now_.

But they're in the open yard, and she is holding his daughter. When he gets her hand on his cock for the first time, he wants her all to himself.

All these days he's been torturing himself, and it turns out _if_ and _when_ were never that far apart at all.

“You stay in your cell,” he says. “I'll come to you.”

“Okay,” she says softly. She hesitates, then reaches forward and squeezes his hand. If she were looking, she'd see his cock twitch at the pressure of her fingers, tentative but strong. “I'll be there.”

Her lips curl so sweetly, and then she's letting go of his hand and turning and walking up the hill, ass firm and round in her tiny shorts. The thighs beneath them are taut with muscle, flexing with each step, shimmering under a thousand dots of sweat.

Rick lets his breath out slow, barely glancing around before adjusting himself in his jeans, groaning under his breath at the too-fleeting pressure. He'll have to beat one out before he goes to her. He doesn't want to embarrass himself.

The path to the shed is finally clear. He walks over, bowlegged and flushed, and with a seething sense of finality puts his farming tools away.

 


End file.
